


Catastrophic Consequences

by BlushingDarling



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 02:31:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1452229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlushingDarling/pseuds/BlushingDarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a series of unfortunate events unfolds causing Hermione to have a bad day unrivaled by any other, the last thing she needs is to be forced into a situation that involves working side by side with Draco. The last thing either of them expects is to find that the consequences that seemed so dire, perhaps aren't as unfixable as they think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catastrophic Consequences

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blackfirm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackfirm/gifts).



“You're joking.”

“Unfortunately not.”

“I knew I should have called in sick today.”

Hermione blew a stray wisp of hair that desperately clung to her sweaty forehead as she observed the absurdly high stack of papers occupying every square inch of her desk. In that moment, she couldn't even think of any expletives to describe how royally screwed up her day was about to become- and as someone who had survived being best friends with two idiots whose level of common sense was questionable at best- that was saying something. 

“Look, I swear I had nothing to do with it.” Ron said, as he shuffled his feet in an attempt to place the desk between them to give himself some degree of protection against his best friend's wrath. “Kingsley thinks this arrangement will be beneficial for everyone involved.”

“ _Beneficial_? For who? Does he _want_ me to blow someone's head off?”

“Don't say Harry and I didn't warn you how rubbish it is working in this department, Hermione. International relations are full of bureaucratic bullshit and red tape, and Ministers trying to avoid losing face. You'll work it out- or did you forget that everyone thinks you're the brightest witch of our age?”

Hermione could feel her face turning an almost disturbing shade of red at Ron's nonchalance. Sucking in a deep breath, she barely resisted the urge to dig into her robes and hex him into oblivion after her particularly ghastly morning. “Should I recount for you just how terrible my day has been, Ron?”

“I don't think-”

“My assistant has come down with a serious case of Scrofungulus and won't be back for at least two weeks, which means I don't have anybody to filter through the ridiculous amount of calls I've been getting. Let's add to that fact that I believe I've scared off her replacement, because Merlin forbid I actually expect my assistant to do work- instead she's apparently quit the Ministry all together and went home in tears because I asked her to send a couple of owls for me-”

“Hermione, I heard you wanted her to send five hundred-”

“After that incident, everyone I've asked has refused to help me. I'm spending my days trying to get through my normal work and field calls from the bloody Bulgarian Minister for Magic who for all I know, has asked me to marry him with his complete lack of knowledge of the English language coupled with a lousy excuse for an interpreter-”

“I'm sure it's not that serious-”

“Let's not forget the fact that I now have to fix the complete farce you and Harry have caused regarding the French Minister's highest ranked assistant, after you decided to lock him up for the night after he supposedly caused a drunk and disorderly. I mean, couldn't you have just sent him back to the hotel for the night to sleep it off? Actually, don't answer that- I already know you two haven't got a lick of common sense or concern for the potentially catastrophic consequences-”

“The guy was bloody walking around naked- what did you want us to do? Put him in a pair of polka dotted underwear and send him on his merry way? I'm pretty sure everybody who lives on that street was offended by the sight of his-”

“And then some moron decides to accidentally cause a torrential downpour in Draco Malfoy's office of all bloody places. Now you're telling that, not only do I have to work with him to organize this Quidditch match between the French and English national teams, we actually have to share an office space because of someone else's incompetence-”

“Take a breath, Granger. I'm _almost_ concerned that you're going to pass out.”

Hermione's head snapped around so fast, Ron was surprised she didn't topple over or end up with a serious case of whiplash. A sopping wet Draco Malfoy stood leaning against the doorframe, a large cardboard box in his hands. The water from the accidental downpour had darkened his usually white blond hair, dripping from the ends and marking the wooden floor, much to Hermione's dismay. His angular features displayed his usual aloof expression, at odds with the sharpness of his grey eyes. Rather than responding to the snarky remark, Hermione ran her hands down the front of her robes and encouraged herself to breathe deeply.

“You can put your things down on the left side of the desk, Malfoy,” she said through gritted teeth. “It's the side that has the least amount of paperwork on.”

“Actually, Granger,” Draco replied, covering the distance to the desk in a few strides, “I prefer working on the right side of a desk.” 

The silence following the thud of the box on the desk was deafening. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Ron slinked from the room practically unnoticed by both parties, shutting the door firmly behind him. With a quick flick, Hermione freed her wand from her robes and grudgingly summoned an extra chair from the storage closet. A few more complicated movements later, her desk was completely cleared and Malfoy's things were stacked neatly on the left side.

“You can work on the left, or on the floor. Your choice,” she said lightly, taking her regular seat and pulling a quill and ink pot towards her. 

“Granger, do I need to tell you how much I'm dreading working with you? I'm not exactly happy about this arrangement either.” Draco rolled his eyes, and deciding it was better to appease her than trigger another rant, took his seat beside her. “I think we should start by finding a suitable venue, since we were the ones who caused offence, maybe the match should be held in France.”

“I can't believe the French are making this seem like it was our fault,” Hermione muttered. “It wouldn't have turned into such a big fiasco if that man had just kept his bloody pants on- literally.” 

Sighing audibly, she noted several feasible venues in the French countryside on a spare piece of parchment and listed the people she would need to contact in their Ministry in order to obtain the correct permissions. The pair continued to work in an almost comfortable silence, until Hermione reached up to fiddle with her hair- only to find her hand clutched in an iron tight grip.

“Why aren't you wearing your ring?” Draco demanded, his brow creased as she shifted her focus to meet his gaze.

“Because my husband's a complete arse who makes me question all my life decisions on a regular basis,” she responded, suddenly tired. When his hand loosened its hold, she tugged hers free and held it far from reach under the desk. 

Draco's expression visibly softened as he reached for her shoulders and turned her to face him. When it was clear she was actively trying to avoid looking at him, he used his fingers to gently tilt her chin, forcing direct eye contact. “I feel your pain, because my wife drives me completely mad. She's driving me even madder by making me sleep on the couch every night because of a ridiculous argument we had, and refusing to work with me on a project that was actually a joint venture in the first place.”

The fire Draco had grown so accustomed to immediately sparked in Hermione's eyes, “How would you react if your mother in law basically told you she'd rather you didn't give her grandkids, because your reproducing would probably result in the Purebloods becoming non existent? And how would you feel if your husband agreed with her?”

“I didn't agree with her!” Draco sputtered, his voice rising considerably. “I was trying to avoid a conflict by telling her we hadn't discussed having children, because obviously we're both too career minded at the moment to even consider having a child. I'm not going to be my father, Hermione- I'd rather actually give myself a shot at being a decent parent.”

She stood so quickly the chair wobbled precariously before toppling to the floor with an almighty bang. “Well, I think it's a little late for that. If you didn't want to have children with me, you probably should've mentioned it before we did something stupid- like get married.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Granger,” he sighed, sitting against the chair back and rubbing tiredly at his eyes. “What's gotten into you lately? Ever since that dinner with my mother, you avoid me like I've got Vanishing Disease. I'm tired of having to tiptoe around you like you're a piece of porcelain that I'm going to shatter.”

“And I'm tired of feeling like I'm going to say something that's going to make your family disapprove of me more than they already do. The fact that they don't like me is a message I'm already getting loud and clear, I don't need it to be repeated every time I see them,” Hermione responded, seemingly finding something interesting to observe on the floor. “And I'm terrified of how you're going to react when I tell you why I've been avoiding you.”

“Oh, so there is a reason I've been in the dog house for the past few weeks?” Draco asked, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “Look Granger, whatever it is, it can't possibly be as bad as-”

“I'm pregnant.”

Black ink spread rapidly across the abandoned parchment as the pot was knocked over without a second thought. With deliberate motions, Draco stood and pulled her towards him and slipped his arms around her shoulders. When she would have pulled away, he simply tightened his grip and rested his chin atop the downy softness of her hair. 

“That's why you've been avoiding me?” he asked quietly. When he felt her nod of assent against his chest, he let out the breath he hadn't know he'd been holding. “Granger, for the lady who's been labeled the brightest witch of our age, you really are stupid.”

Hermione's head immediately drew back, her mouth poised to respond. When she caught sight of Draco's grin, she opted instead to reach up his back and slap his head. “What are we going to do, Draco?”

“What do you mean what are we going to do? We're going to have a baby, and we're going to be great parents.” 

Draco laughed when Hermione's forehead creased, recognizing the expression that indicated she was struggling to process her thoughts. His shoulders shaking, he pressed his lips to her brow and slipped one of his hands between them, resting it gently against her still flat belly.

“Hard to believe there's a human being in there,” she said, her voice soft.

“That's a magic all of its own.”

“I think that's the corniest thing I've ever heard you say.”

“That's what I get for spending time with your bloody Gryffindor friends and drinking too much Firewhisky- I think it's rotted my brain.”

“What are we going to name her?”

“It's going to be a him,” Draco said confidently. “What do you think of the name Cuthbert?”

“Draco!”


End file.
